Cut You Down
by Shizuka no Taisho
Summary: The car rolled smoothly out of the alley, and he waved a good-bye to the blond who was watching him go, refusing to look back. Impossible, but he was sure he'd see those beautiful eyes through the black visor, and they had the power to tear him apart. Cut him down. Yes. Mello held that power. Not god, not the devil. Just him. It was Mello, and only Mello, who could cut him down.


_Not much I can say, other than this was inspired by: __ favourites/#/d5h5tll__, as well as these two songs. _

_ watch?v=6Bwfm7-uNS4_

_ watch?v=F223DEpchq4__ (THE MAN IS EAR SEX)_

_I'm not taking direct inspiration from the picture; merely the song idea and how it might be tied into Matt. Because it's fitting, even if you don't like Matt being religious. Like me…though mine has a healthy fear of Dullahans. _

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, nor the song **_**God's Gonna Cut You Down **_**by Johnny Cash. Or **_**Battle of Jericho, **_**sung by Hugh Laurie (this version anyway). Shouldn't that be obvious? I am manipulating all three for my own purposes though, and I own the plot bunnies rampaging inside my head. **

Waiting in the shadows of the alley, Matt cocked his feet up on the dash and lit another cigarette, watching for the tip to burn before inhaling. Bitter smoke clouded his lungs, flooding his nostrils as he blew two streams and tapped ash out the window. The specks nearly hit one of the black boots parked by his car, and he lazily glanced toward it, catching the dirty look being thrown his way by the owner, who was dressed head to toe in black. Black helmet and visor, black leather racing suit, thick, durable gloves. Even his soul seemed black, tainted by years of darkness and sins of the worst kind. Not that the redhead was one to judge. If anyone was going to hell in a hand basket, it was him. "Think they'll throw me a party?"

"What?" Pushing up his visor, Mello looked at him with pale, aquamarine eyes. They were dilated, and, as usual, Matt suspected he was riding the high of a plan ready to be executed, A plan that was probably doomed to fail, but eve a dog's luck had to run out sooner or later. "The hell are you talking about?"

Matt shrugged. "The devil. Heard he throws a mean party. Think he'll bring out the booze and celebrate my demise with pomp and circumstance?" He tapped his cigarette, idly looking out the window at the dank sky. Bleak and grey. Go figure. Not like heaven was gonna shine with the light of their purity, awaiting them with open arms. That place was for the saints, those innocent in heart and soul. A couple of dregs like them…shit, the Big D was the only one who _would _welcome their kind. Least in his case.

"…you're not going to die."

Same story he'd been hearing for weeks. You're not going to die. Just stick with the plan, things will go fine. Floor the gas, get away. They'll take you in for questioning if you get caught. But you won't. "I'll kick your ass if you do," he muttered under his breath, ignoring the dark frown on his friend's face. He couldn't really see it anyway, what with his visor. Just knew it was there. "You're not a prophet, Mells. You don't know what's gonna happen out there. What if I run out of gas? Huh? What if my tires get shot out, or yours?" Worry flickered in his chest, but he shoved it aside. Mello would be fine. He was the smart one. They wouldn't catch him, and he'd get his chance to one up Near. But success was built on the back of sacrifice. ….in this case, his. He knew it. Mello-he'd find out, soon enough. "This isn't Jericho Mells. The walls aren't gonna fall just because you blow some stupid horns. Life-this…it's not that simple."

Mello grimaced, brows puckering over his eyes. "You think I don't know that? And don't you go using Biblical literature against me, you sonofabitch. Do you have any idea how sacrilegious that is?"

Yeah, actually. He did. "Does it matter?" Tossing away the remains of his cigarette, a near charred filter, Matt kicked his feet down and revved up the engine, satisfied with its purr. "Shit. Listen to her. No way this baby's gonna betray me. She could drive through hell and back and come out without a scratch."

He could tell that Mello wanted to continue the conversation. Smite him for referencing the holy book, condemn him for having such faith in a machine. Maybe even curse him for his pessimistic point of view. He couldn't though. And they both knew it. Doing any of that would just bring light to the fact that Matt was probably right, about all of this. They were on a fool's errand. Even if Mello got away, _he _wouldn't. Just wasn't how things were meant to be. Matt had understood that when he signed himself up as Mello's best bro years ago. Every hero had that one friend who got sacrificed for the greater good. What was considered "good" was definitely questionable in their case, but it didn't matter. Mello was the king, and he'd fight the battle to his dying breath.

Matt….he was just there to take that final blow.

"Shouldn't you get going?"

Spoken at the same time; one in casualty, the other stressed and tight. "Yeah. Guess I should." Another cigarette already between his lips, the redhead grinned at his friend. "Got an important date. Can't afford to miss it." First up to plate, and he wouldn't forgo it for anything. He'd die, spare Mello. And if he didn't, and the devil decided to make an appearance and drag him down to the depths of hell….well…he'd be waiting. There was always a deal to be made. Just ask Johnny Blaze. "Wait until I pull the trigger, then go for it. You've gotta use the smoke screen as much as you can. I'm not sure how long it'll last." Matt cocked his head, reaching out the window to give Mello's forearm a hard squeeze. "Don't do anything stupid, yeah? Keep to the plan."

"I could say the same to you."

"Me?" He saw the look in those blue eyes. Understood what Mello was saying. What he knew. "Relax. Doing stupid shit's my specialty. Nothing's gonna happen." Looking away, he quirked his lips up at the corner, fingertips drumming on the steering wheel. Nothing that wasn't already expected anyway. Mello could deny the truth all he wanted. Hell, he encouraged it, if it saved him any pain or suffering. Didn't change facts though; nothing would. "….just in case," he tossed something at the blond, watching him catch it easily and stare. A simple silver lighter. Nothing fancy about it, save for the Pacman symbol engraved on the front. A gift from Mello for Christmas, years ago, when he'd just began understanding that their companionship, their friendship, would birth the day when his own flame would get blown out. Not by any fault of Mello's, no. People did crazy shit when they were in love.

The lighter glinted in the dreary light of the alley. Winking, sputtering. Matt held back a smile. "Keep it. May bring you some luck."

Mello looked at him, eyes unwavering. Matt met the blues through a sheen of gold tint, the only protection he could offer the blond. If he saw what was running through his head, the different thoughts and feelings- "Get going. We've got to finish this." All at once, Mello snapped down his visor and gripped the bike's handles, ready to go and pulling his tough as nails act over him like a blanket. It wasn't a rejection. It was understanding. Something they both understood. Didn't want to acknowledge. "….Matt."

"…yeah?"

"…read the Bible. The devil doesn't throw parties. He just tempts you to sin, then lets you suffer for all eternity in Hell."

Matt grinned, saluting him as he put the car in gear and gently pushed on the gas. "Yeah, I know. There's a first time for everything though. Guys like me don't come along every day."

He was kidding himself. He was nothing special. Not when compared to the hero. But that was ok. He didn't want to be the hero, or the champion. He was fine with just being…Matt. The casual nobody who always had a back story, but was never elaborated on. The hero's aid. A distraction. A sacrifice for the greater good. His good. "Fuck…" Matt steeled his spine, forcing himself to keep the cocky grin as he used the car lighter to burn up the cigarette between his teeth. It was too quiet, too lonely, and he hit the radio button, laughing quietly to himself as a deep baritone filled the car, drowning out the rumble of his tires and the engine's purr.

"_Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter. Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down._"

The car rolled smoothly out of the alley, and he waved a good-bye to the blond who was watching him go, refusing to look back. Impossible, but he was sure he'd see those beautiful eyes through the black visor, and they had the power to tear him apart. Cut him down. Yes. Mello held that power. Not god, not the devil. Just him. Always would be, if this little adventure said anything. Angels could soar down from heaven and cast holy spears at his head, and demons could crack open the earth, dragging him and his car into the waiting abyss. Whatever. None of it would succeed. Mello…his best friend. The only guy he'd sacrifice himself for, do a deal with death to watch survive. The guy he loved. It was Mello, and only Mello, who could cut him down.

"Go blow your horn," Matt muttered, smoke dribbling out from between his lips. "The walls will come tumbling down." And when they did, he'd be ready with guns blazing, grinning and welcoming death with open arms. That's how it was. For Mello, he'd die. And it was Mello, and only Mello, who would cut him down.


End file.
